


I Breathe Out When You Breathe In (I Breathe In When You Breathe Out)

by MotherOfCups



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Ky goes visiting, OC Swap, Smut, Songfic, dream walking, fem...slash?, the better part of me, the iris oracle, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherOfCups/pseuds/MotherOfCups
Summary: Story Time (tm):I had a dream like three? weeks ago that was like, this wild, The Sun Is Also A Star day-long whirlwind romance with a punk-tinged blue-haired woman. It was only when I woke up that I realized the woman waskidlightningsfem! Ky. She dreamwalked me.Thus. This story, set against the backdrop of the arcanaverse, was born. Enjoy.
Relationships: Apprentice/Apprentice, Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice/Asra/Julian Devorak, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	I Breathe Out When You Breathe In (I Breathe In When You Breathe Out)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kidlightnings (revolver)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolver/gifts).



> **Local Natives - Garden of Elysian**
> 
> _CW: Some light Oracle spoilers_

Ky sat cross-legged on the bed, moonlight illuminating her pale hands, her long fingers, as she shuffled the cards. It was late, the night air silent and still, not even the sounds of the city to soothe her – everyone seemed to be asleep, Asra, at her side, curled towards her, the sheets pooled around his hips, and Faust, draped over his shoulders. Sleep had always come easily for Asra, but tonight, Ky felt her magic tugging, summer sky, at her fingertips as the cards finally settled in her palm. 

She drew the top card, let the deck fall away, float tidily to the bedside as she laid the card carefully in front of her. **The Queen of Cups** , dark brows, blonde hair, soft smile: Ky heard a voice, hardly more than a whisper, singing to her ear, softly, gently, like the whisper of water in a stream: _“I could only hear you singing...”_ Ky hummed softly, her gold-light eyelashes fluttering as they dropped closed, calling the images to her, the smokeblue haze of dreaming rolling over her. 

When her eyes opened again, she was standing, barefoot, toes curling, on the familiar streets of Vesuvia, the paving-stones slick with warm, late-spring rain. The alleys in front of her twisted, narrow, like ribs – the familiar underbelly of the Southside, not far from the docks; Ky could smell the salt, the sweat, as she wove through the crowds, already drunk, swaying, shouting, clinging to each other in twos and threes. 

A familiar sight sprung up in front of her, the corners of her vision blurring, confirming – the sign, black feathers swirling around a tankard, the long, rickety stairs up to the second floor tavern, just like hers. The Rowdy Raven was crowded – it must have been late in the night, Ky realized with a wry smile – the little four-piece was playing, a rollicking quadrille, some of the tables cleared away for dancing, some completely occupied with patrons, drinking games, card games. 

She was lucky to get a seat at the bar, right by the taps, where a burly, scarred bartender that she didn’t recognize (but there was Barth, scurrying by, just as tall and built as hers, and just as half-dressed, too, no shirt, apron slung low) eyeing her curiously, noting her clothes – pajamas, a matching set of soft, sky-blue silk with navy piping, a gift from Nadia that Ky only accepted when she ran her fingertips over it, embarrassed, only to let out a longing, lingering sigh. 

“Yer not from aroun’ here, are ya, luv?” The scarred bartender purred as he deftly poured her cider from the tap – it smelled faintly of orange peels, and cinnamon. An unusual combination. 

“No, ‘spose not.” She said with an arc of her eyebrow, elbow planted firmly on the bar as she scanned the room. The same well-trodden floorboards, the smell of cannabis and sweat and old beer, old crones hunched over their glasses of barley wine, their cards and crystal dominoes. Only the gossip different, Ky thought with a smirk, a sip of the strange cider. 

Something fizzled, sharp and staticky, in Ky’s periphery, and she turned wildly, nearly spilling her drink; a woman, pulling a gauzy, star-flung cloak from around her shoulders, a massive smile splitting her soft features as she waved at the bar. The dew clung to her short blonde hair, plastered in little curls against her forehead, and her dark, dark eyes sparkled as the wiry bald bartender, massively pregnant, slipped out from behind the bar and pulled her into a bone-breaking hug, flashing her winsome, gap-toothed grin. 

In front of her, the scarred bartender flipped one of the taps, pouring off a goblet of mead that smelled oddly bitter, yet familiar. The woman hardly paid Ky any mind as she strode confidently to the bar, leaned over it, practically over her lap, and kissed both of his cheeks, eyes warm. 

“Dara, it’s been too long.” The stranger murmured – Ky just caught sight of the tattoo on her neck, the number XIII in blood-red, just peeking out of the neckline of her black satin blouse, edged in needle-thin lace. Even her clothes for drinking at the Raven were finely wrought, the delicate gold closures of her belt, the sturdy brass buttons on her long velvet skirt. Ah. A palace plaything. Ky watched the woman with knowing eyes as she now flounced away. 

The burly bartender followed Ky’s gaze, a little warily, as the woman was waylaid, another patron recognizing her, pulling her in for a salute, one she accepted with a laugh, a hearty drink of her mead, a gentle flush on her cheeks. Ky couldn’t help noticing the way the velvet shifted over her hips as she walked – she was shapely, her thighs thick, her hips wide, her bust full. 

“Her name’s Iris.” He muttered. “Iris Keshet, the Oracle of Vesuvia.” 

Ky’s eyebrow flew up, her gaze snapping to the man. “Oracle?”

His expression stiffened, his thick brows furrowing. “She got all the Gods in her. Can call them whenever she pleases. Can call down the Big Goddess, too, though she ain’t done that in...years now.” His gaze rolled to Ky. “She sees you. Clearly, the truth, the light. Clairvoyance, they call it. And she has dreams.” 

Ky perked up. “Dreams?” 

The man nodded, even as the pregnant bartender flitted by, whispered in his ear, kissed his cheek. He started filling a flurry of steins, beer, cider, mead. “Dunno how it works. Aster could tell you.” He murmured, gesturing with his chin to the bald woman, now leaning over the bar, chatting amicably with other customers. “But she...she sees what is, and what’s to be. Saved our skins more times than we prob’ly know. She’s one of the Countess’s close circle. Used to be the Palace Fool. Sang. Voice like a storm.” 

Ky turned around, a soft smile sculpting her lips. Iris was finally making her way to her seat, a booth in the back, a little more tucked away than the rest. “Interesting.” 

“She’s accounted for.” The bartender said with a knowing smile. “A husband, a doctor here in the Southside. And another partner, a magician, goes by Asra. You should know, you might hear – she died. Years ago, now – Asra brought her back from Death’s arms, Gods be damned. Y’know how people are. They talk.”

Ky hummed thoughtfully as she stood. “Thank you, eh – um...” She pressed a gold into his hand, hoped it was still the right currency. 

“Dara.” He said with a smile. “No worries, luv. They’ve all got an arrangement, so my wife tells me. Ya might still be in the runnin.” He glanced at the gold, pocketed it without a word. “Happy huntin’.” 

Ky still flushed. 

The bar was not as crowded as it was some nights in her card of the deck, and Ky was only slightly aware of how bold she must look as she approached the woman alone in her booth, carefully sipping her mead, her eyes faraway. Ky wondered, with a pang, what she must have gone through to gain so much power, the sigil on her palm flaring like a phantom limb. 

Still, Iris didn’t break from her reverie until Ky was slipping into the seat across from her. She was even more startling in person – her eyes wider, her brows thicker, darker, the thick, dark lipstick on her lips not belying their plushness. She was not built like Ky, tall and lean and muscular, with only a little give around slim hips, softness in her long, tapered thighs – Ky imagined dimples, handfuls of sweetness, around her shoulders, her waist, her ass. 

Her lips rounded to a little o as their gazes caught, bright gray and swirling indigo. “Can I...?” 

“Name’s Ky.” Ky drawled, pushing the mead she’d swiped from the bar in front of Iris. “Couldn’t figure out what drew me to this place, then you walked into the bar.” She smiled, lopsided, a touch tentative. “Have a few questions, if you don’t mind.” 

A feeling swept over her like she was standing nude in a snowstorm, skin prickling, nerves quietly alight; it subsided as soon as it came on. “You’re a magician.” Iris murmured, draining her drink in one impressive gulp, her hand settling around the other one, a silent signal of acquiescence. “A powerful one, at that.” 

Ky smiled. “Perhaps not as powerful as you.” 

Iris’s brow furrowed – she was striking even in her suspicion. “You had questions?” 

Ky chuckled. “Your husband. Doctor Ilya Devorak?” 

The smirk that crossed Iris’s lips brought out two sets of dimples, wicked on each of her round cheeks. “The one and only.” 

Ky hummed. “Thought so. And your magician lover – Asra Alnazar?” 

Iris laughed now, taking another sip of her mead. “Asra Niraj-Alnazar, yes. Are you going to name off everyone I’m currently involved with?” 

“Is the list long?” 

Iris set the cup down with a decided click, one corner of her mouth twitching out even further in amusement. “What do you want, Ky?”

It took Ky a moment to realize she was unnerved, and Iris was unnerved, both of them bristling a little. “You died. Of the plague? Then Asra resurrected you, gave you half his heart. Three years, and then...you became the Oracle? Beat the Devil at his own game, sealed him away in his realm?” 

Iris didn’t answer, only holding her gaze, eyes narrowed not in anger, but in confusion. “How did you…?” 

Ky held up her hand, and the sigil flared, blue-bright. What Ky didn’t expect was for both of Iris’s palms to glow, too, the mark of the bargain, snow white split into rainbows. Iris turned them over, more to examine them curiously than to show Ky, but Ky couldn’t help but stare at the jagged, deep-dark scars that sliced across each palm.

“I’m you.” Ky murmured quietly.

Iris snorted as the lights died gently down – the sounds of the tavern resumed, and Ky didn’t know if the Universe had paused their conversation for them, or if Iris had. “That’s a new one.” 

“Not...not you, you. Another you.” Ky paused, considering. “My aunt, Flor, and I, split off from my family and came to Vesuvia. Met Asra, fell in… then the plague came, and I died. He resurrected me.” Ky stared down at her palm, the afterburn of the sigil still wavering brightly in her eyes. “And...together, we defeated the Devil. The story is the same. The same as Laurel’s, as Canis’s, as Rory’s. As the other Ky’s. Others whose names I never learned.”

“You’ve met others?” Iris took another sip of her drink, and Ky had to give her credit – she was taking it all in stride, if carefully placating. “Others...of us?” 

Ky nodded. “Yes. In dreams.” 

“And this is one of your dreams?” Iris gently traced the worn wood of the table, ringed with years and years of use – still, her fingers found the woodgrain, the long wavy tendrils of varnished Vesuvian pine. “Intertwined spirits living parallel lives, only crossing when the fabric of the Universe weaves them together.” Her mother and brother finger converged into a swirling knot in the wood. “So what brings you to my Vesuvia, Ky, my twin flame?” 

Ky shook her head. “It’s...it’s not...before, it hasn’t forebode of danger. Just...” She rolled her fingers across her palm, absentmindedly. “I’ve never had much control of it, if I’m being honest.” 

Iris smiled, her features softening in the low light. “I know that feeling. Well, I’m glad you found me, Ky.” She held up her glass and winked, before taking a deep drink through gently smiling lips. “Even if it was just to flirt with me.” 

Ky awoke with a start.

*******

“She was tall, well, not that much taller than me, I guess, but she _looked_ tall, willowy, strong, with this...blue hair, unlike anything I’d ever seen.” Iris set the box of tiny vials down on the glass-topped counter with a soft thunk, a tiny huff of breath, the only interruption of her stream of thoughts. “It was... wavy in some spots, straight in some, light at the top, dark at the bottom, like it was dipped in cobalt paint...and her _eyes_ , gray unlike even Ilya’s, this color like night before dawn...” 

“Iris.” Asra interjected with an amused smile. “Take a breath, please, or _you’ll_ be the blue one.”

“This is serious, Asra.” She muttered, smirking, pulling the vials out with lightning speed, reading the miniscule writing, some of them so ancient the labels were peeling. “I’ve never had someone infiltrate my dreams like that. I need to know more. What if someone else could interrupt my dreams, influence them? What would it mean for Vesuvia?” 

“You just want to see her again.” A husky tenor voice called from the stairwell, followed by the thundering of long-limbed footfalls. Julian appeared, none of his buttons buttoned on his massive white shirt, as he sat heavily on the second-to-last step and started to lace up his tall, tall boots. “Sounds like a little crush, if you ask me.” 

Iris rolled her eyes venomously, pocketing three tiny vials of cloudy, sky-blue liquid, a potion distilled from cloudberries and blue calcite. “You’re incorrigible.” She murmured, but accepted a kiss to her temple as she quickly did up the middle four buttons of his shirt. 

“When was the last time you were with a woman, darling?” He purred into her crown, her cropped hair, dropping a kiss onto her scalp as he, just as quickly, undid the top button. 

“Since before you returned, Ilya.” Asra crooned, slyly, handing him a clay thermos of steaming coffee, black as ink. “Years, now.” 

Julian raised a raffish brow, kissing Asra now, on the lips. “I say chase your dream-girl, Iris. We’ll be here when you get back.” Asra pushed him away from the lingering kiss, but Iris saw the way his fingers tightened on Julian’s shoulder, fighting the urge to let go, and she snorted softly. 

“I’ll need use of the bed.” 

Asra hummed thoughtfully as he opened the door for Julian, who flew out, coffee spilling, the clinic clear on the other side of the city waiting – Asra barely caught him, a playful swat on the little swell of his ass. “I think we could manage.” 

Iris rolled her eyes again, couldn’t suppress a pleased grin as the first customers trickled in.

When Iris slipped into dreams that night, she was dropped into the alleyways behind the Raven, slightly warped, exaggerated, like the whole street had been in the sun for too long: the darks too bright, the long lines too jittery, brittle. She shifted, getting her bearings, testing her limbs, her fingers, the isolations of her ribs and hips. She felt awake, the crystalline vision from the cloudberries chilly behind her eyes. She was dreaming, but in control. Lucid. Willing. 

She gathered her long skirt under her fingers, black, Prakran-style, wide, swinging sleeves that connected to the gilded belt around her waist – she ran her other hand through her hair, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she recalled what Julian said, as she located the long, spindly steps up to the Raven’s tavern. It was empty, empty, not even Aster or Dara behind the bar – but there was Ky, her long hair down over her shoulders, soft and wild, lounging in a pair of silver-spangled harem pants, a loose white shirt with fantastical sleeves cinched under a night-black bodice embroidered with iridescent starstrands. 

At the sound of the door opening, she leaned back in the tall stool, that half-slant smirk sneaking across her face as she regarded Iris calmly. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?” 

Iris snorted, smiling, as she shucked the cloak from her shoulders and ducked behind the bar, quickly locating two goblets and throwing the taps with ease. “Another cider for you?” 

Ky arced one eyebrow. “You remembered. Surprise me.” 

Iris poured two goblets of her favorite barberry mead, placing one with a careful clink in front of Ky. “My treat.” She joked.

Ky sniffed it once, took a tentative sip; her nose wrinkled, and then melted into a surprised, pleased smile. “Barberry?” 

“It’s my favorite.” Iris replied, leaning on both of her elbows over the bar, taking a healthy swig of her own. “So, is this your dream, or mine?” 

Ky chuckled as she set down her drink. “The simple answer is both, I ‘spose.” 

Iris bit her lip softly, worried it between her teeth as she thought. “I need my dreams. I need them to be mine. Be safe.” 

“You wanna stop?” Ky regarded her carefully, curiously.

Iris started. “Is that...possible?” 

Ky shrugged. “Like I said, I can’t always control it.” She took another sip of her mead, gentle disgust, then simmering satisfaction. “Why do you need your dreams to be your own?” 

Iris sighed softly, letting her head loll down, her neck long. “The Universe gives me visions in my dreams. Since I came back...from Death’s realm. Dreams full of wild images, symbols, warnings. I learned how to interpret them. The Arcana taught me, as we moved through the Fool’s journey.”

Ky hummed with understanding. “And now your dreams are what protect Vesuvia.” There was a moment where neither of them spoke, before Ky muttered. “Then your dreams aren’t really your own, after all.” 

Iris looked away, and took another sip of her drink. “I need them to be safe, at least.” 

Ky laughed now. “What is safe to you? Dreams are the loom where the subconscious is made tangible. You see things, faces, just going on about your life, and they manifest as horrors in dreams that we don’t even register as terrifying. The most common dream is of falling to your death. The third is all of your teeth falling out. Both are signs you’re feeling out of control.” She grinned, then drained her drink; she wiped her lips with her fingertips, the little plush dragging with her touch. “Do you want more control in your life, Iris?” 

It was Iris who awoke with a sharp gasp, an arch of her back – Asra, his head on her chest, startled awake with a little groan. 

“Bad dream?” He cooed sleepily, his arm around her waist tightening, the other hand smoothing through her hair as he looked up at her with all the stars in his eyes. On his other side, Julian stirred, but snored away. 

“I...” Iris whispered. “I’m not certain yet.” 

“ _Sadayana bakal jelas._ ” Asra murmured, pressing his lips to the bare of her breast, before dropping quickly back into sleep. It was a long, long time before Iris followed him there.

*******

Ky thumbed the rim of her mug absently, the other hand absently running through her long hair as she stared into the rippling surface of her tea, silent, silent. It was only when Asra slipped into the booth, across from her, that she was lifted from her daydreams. 

“It sounds to me like she wanted you there.” He murmured, taking her hand in both of his, his lips pressing, warm, soft, into the rise of her knuckles. “If you’re dreaming of her...it’s meant to be. You were meant to meet, like with the others.” 

Ky shook her head. “She said her dreams weren’t her own.” She pressed her lips together, gently pulled her hand away from Asra to press her knuckles to her lips, soft and shapely. “Can you imagine? Even your dreams not being your own.” 

“Everyone’s dreams are their own.” Asra murmured, his eyes starry as he regarded her, resting his chin in his palm. “Maybe Iris needs to remember that.” 

Ky smiled softly, let Asra kiss her cheek, his lips lingering, lingering, as they wandered down her neck, searching for warmth, for strength.

*******

The third dream took Iris to the shop, huddled under the little stoop as the rain poured down around her, her white dress already soaked through. The door was open, mercifully – no, not open, the three locks with their triplet click submitted to her touch, and the door swung open. 

It was her shop, but not her shop, the layout different; the glass-topped counter was pushed against the opposite wall; the hearth clear on the other side of the shop, glowing idly; the ceiling was covered in dangling quartz points wrapped in blue thread. Incense was burning, but not Asra’s favorite orange and bergamot, but something smokier, sage, dragonbloom, maybe. 

Iris thought to call to Ky, but she heard the gentlest rustling from upstairs, and alighted the straight and narrow stairs (another difference), hardly making a sound until she pulled aside the curtain. 

The flat was different, too, kitchenette first, by the door, the salamander sputtering softly, the sitting area cluttered and comfortable with shelves bursting with books and trinkets, the wrought-iron bed surrounded by gauzy curtains on a round rod. This was where Ky lounged, a soft cotton sleeping shirt and silken patterned pants, the same color as her hair. Ky’s eyes flashed as they fell on Iris, soaked in the doorway. “Thought you wanted to stop?” 

Iris shook her head. “I still have questions.” 

Ky smiled, small and a little sad, as she closed the book in front of her. “Cloudberries’ll drive you mad...if you’re not careful.” 

Iris winced with confusion, then felt the little vial in her palm, rolling between her fingers. She’d taken another one. She didn’t even remember. 

“You’re here now.” Ky purred, sitting up a little and patting the bed. “Come, you’ll catch your death just dripping onto the floorboards.” 

A flush danced across Iris’s cheeks, and she made to magic the damp out of her clothes, but Ky was too quick – with a flick of her wrist, Iris’s clothes were gone, only lace-edged white smallclothes in their place. Iris sputtered, flush brightening, and Ky snickered, welcomed a playful swipe from one of the many embroidered pillows as Iris sank down into the bed next to her.

For a moment, they were silent, the only sound the driving rain on the clay roof. Ky just stared at Iris, waiting, waiting, but Iris found no words, only more heat rising to her cheeks. Finally Ky chuckled softly, murmured: “This is what you wanted? For a clairvoyant, you’re not very mysterious.” 

“I’ve never been able to hide how I feel.” Iris replied softly, eyes warm, pupils wide and void-dark. “Not from anyone. I don’t know how.” 

“I know how that is.” Ky whispered. “We really are alike, aren’t we?” She reached out and touched Iris’s cheek with the back of her fingers – Iris realized it was the first time they had touched, sparks jumping wildly under her skin. 

“Does that make this a kind of narcissism?” Iris joked, her voice hardly more than a hum as she leaned forward a little, dragging her fingers gently through Ky’s hair – it was even softer than Iris had imagined, slippery and thick, luscious handfuls, handholds.

“No. Maybe. Who cares.” Ky was so close now, so close that Iris could see the tiny smattering of the faintest freckles on her nose, the peek of teeth between her parted lips, count each of her light eyelashes, like filigreed gold in the lamplight. 

It was Iris who closed the distance between them, surging forward – the kiss was soft, tentative, just lips brushing, but Iris could have swooned at the sound that Ky made, a surprised little cry, then a giggle, her lips turning as her hand wrapped around Iris’s neck. 

They rolled, Iris on top of Ky, her knee between Ky’s legs, their chests flush as Ky’s hand wandered, the soft slope of Iris’s back, the silk-clad cinch of her waist, the full of her hips. Iris grew bolder, deepening their kiss, and Ky responded beautifully, insistently: gentle nips, playful tongue, need, need, need, until Iris had to pull away to breathe. 

“You’re so _soft_.” She gasped, her own hands trailing down Ky’s chest, palm resting on the swell, stopping just short of where she was desperate to touch. “I’d forgotten...” 

Ky quirked an eyebrow. “Forgotten?” 

Iris blushed, furiously, and glanced away. “I...it’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman. A long while.” 

Ky’s smile was indulgent, warm. “You’re cute. We’ll go slow, then.” Another kiss, this time syrupy and lingering, Iris could melt at the softness of her lips, the sweetness of her tongue, the slip of her silk-clad thigh against Iris’s bare one, making her shiver. 

“Can I...” Iris asked softly, her fingertips glancing against the rise, the soft cotton. Ky smirked, that crooked, half-cocked lift of her lips, and she arched, wresting the shirt from her back with a fluid movement. Her pale chest was flushed, sprinkled with light freckles, and her breasts were small but pert, sweet, nipples already hard and rosy; Iris didn’t hesitate, palm cupping, thumb passing curiously over the nub. Ky cooed, one hand tightening on Iris’s waist, the other winding up her neck, fingertips smoothing through her shorn hair, grip gentle but firm, a suggestion. 

Iris took the hint, glancing up at Ky, cheeks hot, lips parted, before her tongue dipped down and replaced her thumb, circling, flicking, lapping – Ky writhed and whimpered, fingers tightening in Iris’s hair, hand smoothing down her hip to the hill of her ass, gripping sweetness through the satin and lace. Iris gasped, then giggled, lips latching to the nipple and suckling, hand drifting down to thumb at the other, finger mimicking the long, lazy trail of her tongue. 

Ky sighed, her head rolling back, the cobalt pool of her hair rippling as she arced, electric, against Iris’s touch – then, with a sharp nip, drawing out a delighted gasp, Iris’s tongue drifted, down the hills of her ribs to the delicious dip of her waist, the luscious, toned swell of her obliques. Ky shrieked, ticklish, her legs curling around Iris’s waist as Iris smiled, teased, nipping and tonguing softly at that spot until Ky was panting and keening, trying and failing to pull her away. 

“Naughty...” Ky laughed as Iris reared back, breath heavy – her fingertips ghosted over the waistband of Ky’s pants, just slipping between the silk and the skin, a question. Ky responded with a rise of her hips, her own cheeks coloring now, and Iris took her time, fingers lingering against Ky’s hips before letting the fabric drag against her skin, the taper of her thighs, the firm of her calves. 

Ky’s eyes were lidded now, stormy and cool. “What do you miss the most about sleeping with women, Iris?” She murmured, her playful grip in Iris’s waves tightening; Iris smirked, and pressed a kiss to the slope of Ky’s hip, the jut of bone, before her teeth dragged against the skin. Ky bucked, her voice tight in her throat, Iris’s warm and teasing as she laughed. 

“I...” Iris’s lips dragged against the inside of Ky’s thigh now, muscular, warm, kissing closer and closer to that slick dewiness. “I missed the way they taste.” 

Ky hummed, her smile wicked as she leaned back, massaging Iris’s scalp as she kissed across the crease of her hips, closer and closer to the little swell of her mound. She paused, for just a moment, lips lingering against the downy hair, before she cocked her head; gently, gently, she kissed the slit of Ky’s sex, breath warm, lips lingering, before her tongue slipped through, teased her apart. 

Ky whined, her legs falling open against the pleasure; Iris’s warm hands fell onto the softest parts of her thighs, gentle as she urged Ky wide, her tongue velvety and warm as it coaxed the bud of Ky’s clit from its hood. Iris moaned, whimpered, when Ky’s fingers fisted in her hair, then drifted down to her shoulders, urging Iris closer, deeper, her tongue searching, the taste both brightly human and wildly sweet, the quiet tang of desire singing across Iris’s tongue as she reached, reached, her teeth nudging against Ky’s clit, earning her a quiet, reedy whimper. 

Ky’s legs were draped over Iris’s shoulders now, her hips rolling against Iris’s face as insistent pleasure arced through her – she keened when Iris reached up for a nipple, pinching, the other sliding under the firm swell of Ky’s ass, groping, Iris focused now on one spot, underneath, up, up the tip of her tongue, her lips wrapped around now, sucking gently as Ky reeled, her belly trembling, her legs shaking. 

It was this motion for as long as Ky needed it, her voice low and wan as she guided Iris with her hands, with her cries - “Yeah, yes, right there, oh, Iris...that-that’s good..” Then, a sudden arch, a whimper, a quiet whine, and her legs tightened around Iris’s cheeks, the flesh pressing beautifully against her, Iris’s hand’s tightening around her soft handholds, Ky’s breast, Ky’s ass, as she came, wildly, softly, sweetly, against Iris’s mouth. 

Iris slowed, cheeks flushed, her sex so, so wet as Ky moaned and sat up on her elbows, fingers dragging against Iris’s skin, prickled to gooseflesh with the touch, drawing her up to kiss. Ky whined at the taste on Iris’s lips, fingers desperate as they trailed down the silk of her smallclothes; she pressed Iris onto her side, their chests pressed together against the heated kiss as Ky’s hand slipped down the soft waistband of her satin shorts. Iris gasped as Ky’s fingertips slid through her slip, warm and slick. 

“Oh.” Ky murmured against Iris’s lips, open, hopeless, her gasping breath desperate as Ky traced the plush of her labia. “You really did miss it, didn’t you.” 

“Don’t...” Iris whimpered. “Don’t tease me...” 

“So much for control.” Ky simpered, her smirk wicked as her fingers found where Iris bloomed, and she moaned as they pressed into her, the long, elegant middle finger first, curling against the bud of nerves that wept, begged, to be touched. “Feel good? You like that?” 

“Ky...” Iris cried, twitching, curling into the touch; Ky grinned, surging forward, her lips latching on to the seam of Iris’s neck, creamy, inviting, giving. She sucked, finger exploring, pumping – when the second slid in, Iris rocked her hips against Ky, wanton, searching desperately for her release, her own fingers sliding down the bare slope of her belly to dance against her clit. 

But it was wrenched away, Ky pressing Iris down into the bed, pinning her twitching hands over her head as Iris mewed and her legs shook, a particularly firm stroke from Ky’s fingers smoothing against her sweetness. “Oh, you really are naughty...” Ky cooed, her reedy voice dark now, uneven smirk now a wicked grin. 

“Ky, please...” Iris whined, hips circling shamelessly against the heel of her palm, hoping, wishing, for firmness, pressure against the pleasure that tightened, tightened, in her belly – but the fingers withdrew, leaving her empty and aching. 

“No – ” Iris gasped, but then there was something cool and inhumanly smooth pressing against her clit, making her moan, loudly, lewdly. Her eyelashes fluttered open, she was probably cross-eyed, pupils cloudy and storm-dark, but she watched Ky grip the linga, carnelian, the mottled red and orange wild and bright against the curtain of cobalt sky that fell, wavy, untamed, over her shoulders, down her back, the leather stark against the cream of her skin. 

“Is this – ?” Ky asked, chin lifted, panting, too, her pupils swallowing the soft gray sea they swam in as she let her fingers, wet still with Iris’s slip, drift up to Iris’s breasts, still clad in the silk, the lace – she traced the outline of a hardened nipple with all the reverence of a potter with clay. “Do you want me this way?” 

“Yes yes, Ky, oh, please, yesplease – _ahhh_ –” Iris’s voice broke as Ky shifted forward, knees nudging Iris’s legs to wrap around a slender, pliant waist, flexing slowly, so slowly, as she pressed in. Iris bloomed, bursting, her head spinning with the heat, the too much, of it all – not like when her lovers were inside her, Julian’s desperate devotion, Asra’s worshipful teasing, but Ky’s eyes wide with wonder, fingers exploring, cupping, rolling, smoothing her curves, as Iris came undone under her with each torturous thrust of her hips.

Iris, still pinned, met her with each motion, whined, flushed, gasped – when Ky finally, finally, let her fingers drift down to tease her aching, neglected clit, Iris was so riled up she came quickly, with an animal howl, clinging to Ky’s waist with quivering thighs. Ky released her wrists, fingers trailing down her arms to her cheek, flushed and rosy, thumbing at her parted lips, the hot breath delicious and sweet on her slick skin. 

“Fuck...my Gods...” Iris mewled, turning to kiss Ky’s palm. “That...that was...” 

“Glad you enjoyed.” Ky cooed, that smirk again, that coolness in her eyes; Iris keened as she pulled out, linga slick with her release. “You’re pretty when you’re not worrying.” She slid next to Iris between the sheets, soft breasts pressed against her sweat-sheened skin, arms wrapping around her in a loose embrace, hands warm as they smoothed through her hair, across the slopes of her chest, her belly, bringing her down sweetly from her high. 

Iris turned, buried her face in Ky’s neck, unable to explain the scent that rose from her, delicate, green, airy, and musk, the human after of their lovemaking. The only sound again was the rain, gentle now, humming, sweetly scented – the flowers in the garden would bloom soon, Iris thought through her haze, and she smiled. 

Ky smiled too. “Sing for me? Dara told me. Might help me sleep.” 

Iris snorted, softly. “Aren’t we sleeping, now?” 

“You might be.” Ky’s smirk was wry. “Cloudberries’ll drive you mad.” 

With the tenderest of kisses to her neck, Iris rolled Ky onto her back, her hand on her bare chest, the other gently stroking her cheek. She was trying to think of a song, a lullaby, one of the folk songs she hummed in Julian’s ear when he couldn’t sleep, but something else came to her entirely, something she had no memory of, before this. 

_“Orchestra playing under the band shell /  
Swaying together like cathedral bells /  
Ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ring… /  
But I can only hear you singing...” _

Ky’s eyelashes fluttered shut, her smile melting to something adorable, just the ends curling. “Where’s that from? Doesn’t sound like here.” 

Iris hummed. “I’m not sure. Another dream, maybe.” 

Ky’s laughter was soft, hardly more than a giggle, and Iris kept singing: _“Ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ring...”_

Iris awoke softly, mind hazy and hips twitching, with her nose buried dense, dark curls, the scent of rum and leather and the sea, a large hand stroking her hair, Julian cooing to her in his lilting, musical tenor. 

“ _Draga moj._ ” He murmured, his voice rumbling in his chest, in Iris's ear, honeyed and thick. “Welcome back, darling. That was quite a show.”

Iris looked up at him, his eyes hazy, long waves mussed from sleep, draped over the pillow – kisses wound up her back, each of her vertebrae, a hand on her hip drifting down, down. “Your dream girl?” Asra’s low voice in her other ear, hot, breathy, as he touched her slick. Her sex was pressed firm to the muscled plane of Julian’s thigh, now soaked with her spend; his erection, hot, hard, wanting, was nestled between their stomachs, glistening with leak. 

Iris gasped softly, blushing. “Darling, I’m sorry...” 

“No – ah, erm. Don’t be…” Julian dipped down to kiss her forehead, still damp with sweat. “I’ll have to thank your dream girl someday for taking such good care of you.” Still, his hips canted a little against her – Asra’s hand now wrapped around him, a sleep, devilish chuckle as the other worked its magic over Iris. 

“At the very least...” Asra cooed in his low, teasing baritone. “We’ll have to thank her for getting you warmed up for us.” 

It was light when Iris finally slept, spent, wrapped in the shaking arms of her lovers. She dreamt, not of any mirror of Vesuvia, but of rolling hills, storm-gray towers, endless panes of glass reflecting the sun like the sea. An orchestra, one that Iris could hear but not see, as she wandered through the ancient, lost-era city. Plumes of smoke, like feathers dragged languidly across the sunset. 

And she dreamt of Ky.

**Author's Note:**

> MOC: Thank you, Kid, for letting Ky come visit. 
> 
> Go check out [kidlightnings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolver/pseuds/kidlightnings) work, y'all. She's a treasure.


End file.
